CSI: Over Drinks
by OutOfDate
Summary: [OneShot] A night in San Francisco finds Sara discussing Gil Grissom over drinks with a woman with boss problems of her own. [Monk XOver]


**Author's Notes:** This is just a short little one-shot I thought up. Someone at YTDAW mentioned the fact that someone should do a Nash Bridges cross-over considering Nash is in San Francisco where Sara comes from. Well, I don't know nearly enough about NB to write a fic, but it got me thinking about other shows centered in the Bay Area. Hope you enjoy the fic.

* * *

**CSI: - Over Drinks**

* * *

Sara Sidle leaned against the stone corner of her hotel, just under the awning at the entrance so as to be shielded from the light drizzle that was pestering the passers by. She'd missed this weather; Las Vegas was typically very hot and _very_ dry, not like these cloudy sprinklings that characterized the feel of the city so well.

San Francisco hadn't changed much since she'd left. It was still the same old ocean-side town. She was glad to be back; though she did miss Vegas she found the reprieve from the glitzy neon of the strip and the endless clink and clatter of the slots a welcome experience.

She'd been eyeing the sign across the street for several minutes, wondering if she should give in to a quick stiff drink. To be honest there was nothing more she wanted than to drink her troubles away. But that'd nearly gotten her into trouble once before. She chewed her lip slowly, 'This is a vacation, I should relax a bit,' she told herself as she pushed herself up off the building and laced her way through the sparse traffic, 'Besides, it's not like Grissom's going to come all the way out here.'

The small pub was dark and quiet for the most part. People sat at tables and booths discussing this and that quietly over a pitcher. It wasn't like the bars in Vegas, there were no women dancing on poles, no scantily clad waitresses out to make a good living in the alley out back.

She walked up to the room-length bar and claimed a stool, motioning for the bar tender's attention. Her request was met with an ice cold bottle of beer and a tall glass into which she poured the golden liquid. In her measly attempt to avoid the inevitable hangover the next morning she opted to sip slowly at the drink.

As she sat staring at the glass becoming emptier and emptier her thoughts left the bay area and traveled the deserts to Las Vegas. Why had she moved to that sun-scorched city of sin? She'd never tried to tell herself it was to better her career, never tried to convince herself that it wasn't for him. He'd called, and she'd gone, like an obedient child.

She'd gone hoping for something . . . more. Through correspondence since Berkley she'd grown to know Gil Grissom as a very private man; their conversations rarely straying from case work and scientific prattle. But perhaps she'd fooled herself into thinking that might change when she answered his call? 'How stupid of me,' Sara let her head fall to her arm as it lay on the bar next to her now near-empty glass.

"Can I get a Miller Light?" The soft, feminine voice to her near right caused Sara's head to draw up and take note of the woman who'd just approached the bar. She was tall, as tall as Sara if not taller, and her fine features were those of a woman who usually smiled, though her face now carried only exhaustion and frustration.

As the bartender set her drink and glass down the woman set her small purse and keys on the bar and retired to the stool beside Sara, firmly planting her elbows on the bar and cradling her face in her hands, letting out a forlorn sigh. After a moment she turned her head towards Sara, "Hi."

"Hi," Sara smiled a bit before turning back to her drink to finish it off and order another. She watched as the woman took a large swig of her beer and fought the temptation to knock back her own, sipping it lightly, "Problems?"

The newcomer rolled her eyes at her drink as she sat it back on its coaster, "Problem."

"Care to share?" Sara prompted, looking for something to take her mind off the reclusive entymologist.

"My boss," the woman responded plainly, taking another drink of her beer before continuing, "Geeze, I don't even drink that much. He's driving me to drink!" She gasped, but there was humor in her voice.

"What's wrong with him?" Sara continued casually, smiling a bit.

"What _isn't_?" She stressed, turning to look at Sara, "I hear people complain about their jobs all the time, about their bosses . . . but none of them are like mine. He's . . . impossible. I swear, he's like a child."

"Hmm . . . sounds tough," Sara wasn't quite sure what the issues with this woman's boss were, but she was glad to have someone to commiserate with.

"You have _no_ idea," She smiled, "This morning. Three in the morning. My daughter's sleeping, I finally get to sleep and the phone rings. Wanna guess what was wrong?"

"What?" Sara wondered what could possibly have a man calling his employee at such an hour or the morning, "Some sort of accident?"

"Eheheh, no, that would be a good reason to call," She turned to fully face Sara, making sure she brought the foolishness of her next words home, "There was a moth on one of his drapes."

". . . what?" Sara responded incredulously, "_That's_ why he called? At three AM?"

"Oh yeah," the woman nodded, taking another drink.

"Hmm, I should call my boss when I have a bug in my house, he'd probably come get it for me," She smiled wryly into her glass, "My boss, Grissom, he's an entymologist. He studies bugs. That's probably one of the only ways I'd ever get him to come over," She sighed.

"You like him?" the woman pressed.

Sara nodded, shrugging a bit, "Always have. I just came back to the city . . . on vacation . . . from him. It's too hard. Just being around him; he knows I like him, I know he likes me, but he's just . . . he won't _do_ anything about it."

"Maybe he's afraid," the woman mused, leaning back a bit as she ordered a second drink.

"Afraid? _Of me_?" Sara half-laughed, "I doubt it."

"You'd be surprised," the woman's voice softened into an almost loving tone as her eyes seemed to gaze off into some unknown place, to some unknown person, "What a grown man could be afraid of."

After a moment of silence Sara connected the dots, "Your boss?"

The woman turned back, smiling almost shyly, "I guess we have some similar problems."

"Guess so," Sara tossed back the rest of her drink and ordered a third. The two women sat in silence for a moment, mulling over their thoughts and enjoying their drinks, "So . . . does he know you like him?"

The woman shook her head, laughing in disbelief, "You know, that's the thing. He's brilliant. Everywhere I go I hear about what a genius he is, how great he is at figuring things out, about seeing what other people can't. But he's just so oblivious when it comes to . . . people."

"Our problems grow more and more similar, it seems," Sara tipped her glass towards the woman, "To our emotionally deficient bosses who can't see the good in front of them."

"I'll drink to that," the woman smiled, tipping her own glass. A quiet ringing came from the purse she'd sat on the bar. She pulled out her cell phone and flipped it open. Upon viewing the caller ID she sighed and shook her head, "Here we go again," She pressed a button and held the phone up to her ear, "Yes sir?"

As the woman turned away from the bar to speak with who Sara assumed was her boss she finished off her drink, pulling out her pocket book. By the time she'd finished counting out the cash for her drinks the woman had finished her conversation and turned back to her, "Well, guess I should go make sure he's alright. His bathroom sink backed up. Apparently there's water everywhere, though considering his exaggerations . . ."

"I should go to, before I drink a bit too much," Sara dropped several bills on the counter, plenty to pay for both of the women's drinks, "This is on me . . ." She held out her hand, fishing for a name.

"Natalie," The woman responded, shaking Sara's hand, "Teeger. And you are?"

"Sara Sidle," They left the bar together and as the stood under the awning just outside of it Sara eyed her hotel, "I go back home tomorrow. And I think . . . I think I'll try and figure out just what it is Grissom's afraid of."

"You do that," Natalie encouraged, smiling, "And I'll try and figure out if there's anything Mr. Monk isn't afraid of."

* * *

**Author's Notes:** Well, there you have it, my first cross-over. Hope you did enjoy it. Not a lot of plot or anything, but I just had to get that scene out of my mind. Perhaps I'll add on a casefile that involves the CSI team and Monk . . .perhaps not. Your thoughts? And yes, I do support Adrian/Natalie over Adrian/Sharona. So shoot me. I think she's better with him. Review if you have the time. 


End file.
